Damned in Any Language

Originally Posted: 9/22/07

Alright, World. I've had e-fucking-nough. So bring it on big momma. Bring your whole fucking crew, cause its goin' down one way or another. I'm sick of your shit and I'm about to fucking lose it.

Me against the world? Sounds appropriate. Solitary people often have those sentiments. That no one loves them or cares for them like they themselves do. I don't feel that way though. I just get into moods where it doesn't matter. I just don't care how you feel about me. My body is tense and I need to lash out. End of story. Love me, hate me, its all the same because in the long run whatever you've thought about me all along has been wrong. You've lied to yourself and projected the person you want me to be onto the person I really am. Don't feel guilty about it, you're not alone.

Speaking of loneliness, I wonder if you've ever felt it. Not that bullshit boredom lonesome shit. That nonsense you complain about when you're sixteen, horny, and home alone at four o' clock in the afternoon. I mean real loneliness, that gut-wrenching shit that makes you pace across the room, up the wall and back down crying and screaming and ripping out your hair because its the only thing that works. The only thing that reminds you you're lonely because other people hurt you and you hate them.

Yeah, then there's hatred. Hatred, so fresh, so invigorating. Something that carries with it so much rage, such greif and resentment. A string of emotions so strong they become the antithesis of love. They are the black to its white, the dark to its light, so to speak. Hatred creates of people intolerant things. Not really human anymore. Human beings are not capable of plumbing that depth of vileness without being consumed in it. Upon surfacing, nothing matters to them anymore. Not the way it used to. Everything is an enemy.

But love, love, love! So splendid! So noble! Such a farce as has never existed elsewhere. See, because love does wonderful things to people, but it makes me fucking crazy. I can't stand it because not a single one of you miserable shitheads has ever grasped it. You don't understand! You don't comprehend! The worst part is, you think you do no matter how many times I tell you how wrong you are. What does man know of love?

Man knows nothing. Fuck you if you think I'm wrong. You know sex, you know attachment, you know tender feelings that last barely the length of time it takes to leave your seed inside her, or ride him until the sensation becomes unbearable. You know nothing of love, though. Nothing of the kind of devotion that makes a man walk through Hell. Makes him cast his life away in madness and rot for that which he loves. You know physical things, mortal things, temporary things. Look in my eyes, and I will show you things you could never grasp. Things that would make you tear out your eyes to avoid the truth.

Scurry, little one. Scurry on this earth like the human rodent you so covet being. But enjoy that time. Because before long, it will be too late. I will weep, and you will suffer.

God, you're all so unappealing. So sickening. So un-fucking-clean. This place is vile, infested with woe and such a pungent stench of shit I can barely breathe. Its all coming undone, all used up and unwound. And I'm salivating with anticipation.

I can't wait for you to show up. I can't wait to sink my teeth and nails into each of you, to tear you to pieces as you've so often done to me. I will leave you lying in a puddle, wallowing in the filth that you've made here. Weeping, praying, begging God to take you. All of this, for the things you have done to me, is nothing. That rape, that fucking rape, can never be avenged. Nor forgiven.

I hope you choke.



Die.



Baise-toi, mes amis.

-Worm